Better (Too Good series)

by S. Walden

  Cadence nodded. “But it still feels like it’s only yours.”

  Mark thought for a moment. “I have an idea.”

  ***

  Cadence checked her bank account balance on her phone.

  “So what do you think?” Mark asked.

  “No more than two hundred, and I really shouldn’t be spending that,” she replied.

  “You’re forgetting I’ve got coupons,” Mark said, holding them up.

  He called all of his female friends and asked if they had Bed Bath and Beyond coupons they were willing to part with. Most said no at first until he explained his situation with Cadence. Then they all felt sorry for her and arranged times for him to pick up the coupons. He ended up with thirty.

  “You can make 200 dollars go a long way,” he said.

  She grinned and looked at her list. “Kitchen gadgets.”

  “I don’t have enough?” Mark asked, walking beside her as she pushed the cart.

  “You’re missing a few things,” she replied.

  He smirked but said nothing. The girl didn’t even cook. What would she know about kitchen gadgets?

  Cadence reached for a silicone brush. “I thought we needed a new one of these.”

  He thought for a moment. The only brush he owned was wooden, stained, and disgusting. She was right. They needed a new one.

  “Perfect,” he said.

  “And this.” Cadence pointed to a spin bowl meant for drying lettuce.

  Mark hid his grin. “You’re right. Much easier than manually drying it.”

  She placed it in the cart and moved on.

  “I want new bedding,” she said.

  “Well, there’s your 200 bucks right there,” he replied.

  “I’m okay with that if you are.”

  “It’s your money.”

  “Yeah, and it’s your bed, too,” she said. “I want to get something we both like. It’s our bed.”

  “So you want my input?”

  “For this, yes.”

  Cadence froze when she rounded the corner of the bedding section.

  Her mother. Just yards away debating between two comforters.

  The ache was instantaneous. She felt it tingle in her fingertips and nose. Her instinct was to run, throw herself on her mother, and crush her in a hug. As though Mrs. Miller could sense this, she turned around slowly, locked eyes with her daughter, and stared.

  “Mommy,” Cadence mouthed. She felt the brimming tears, hovering, longing to spill forth. “Please,” she choked out.

  Her mother dropped the comforter sets and ran to her daughter. She wrapped her up, holding her harder than she meant to, inhaling the strawberry scent of Cadence’s hair.

  “Mom!” Cadence wailed into her mother’s shirtfront. “Where have you been?!”

  “I’m sorry,” Mrs. Miller whispered, her eyes streaming. “I’m sorry.”

  “Where have you been?!” The tears leaked—one right after the other—soaking her mother. She wanted her to feel it, ache for those tears, that pain of separation and despair.

  Mark backed away to give them their space. It wasn’t his place to step in, but he would if Mrs. Miller said or did anything hurtful. He was resentful of her for going along with Mr. Miller’s insane plan to disown Cadence, and he couldn’t understand how a mother would even allow it. Maybe she didn’t have the backbone. Maybe she, too, was scared of him. Everyone in the whole damn world seemed to be scared of Mr. Miller. The anger in Mark’s heart intensified. He wasn’t sure he wanted Mrs. Miller to touch his girlfriend after all.

  “I was wrong,” Mrs. Miller said, pulling away from Cadence and looking her in the eyes. “I was wrong to stay away. Your father . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “He can’t tell you what to do!” Cadence cried.

  Mrs. Miller averted her eyes. “I’m not strong like you, honey.”

  “I needed you,” Cadence said. “And you weren’t there. You’re my mother!”

  “I know,” Mrs. Miller replied. “I’m still your mother.”

  “Are you?” Cadence wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands.

  “Always.”

  “Then why won’t you come and see me?”

  Mrs. Miller breathed in deeply. “I have to be respectful of your father.”

  Cadence’s eyes went wide. Mark narrowed his and decided now was the appropriate time to intervene.

  “What?” Cadence breathed.

  Mrs. Miller tried to explain. “He’s the head of our household, Cadence. I can’t go against his wishes.”

  Cadence’s mouth dropped open.

  “That . . . that’s his role in our house. He’s the head. I-I’m being obedient.” She sounded like she wasn’t altogether sure she believed it.

  Cadence stared, unable to absorb the words.

  Mark put his arm around Cadence’s waist. Mrs. Miller tensed at the sight of him.

  “Hello,” she said stiffly.

  “Lydia,” Mark replied, inclining his head.

  “But he’s wrong,” Cadence whispered. “Why are you obeying him if he’s wrong?”

  “It’s not that simple,” Mrs. Miller said.

  “Actually it is,” Mark argued. “It is that simple. You have a daughter who needs you. And you reject her because your husband’s crazy.”

  “Don’t you dare—”

  “He is crazy,” Mark interrupted. “And selfish. And abusive. And you know it. But you had a chance to show Cadence that you weren’t like that. That you love her and care about her and will do anything to have a relationship with her. You’re her mother, for Christ’s sake!”

  Mrs. Miller’s eyes glazed over with fresh tears. Mark averted his eyes. He couldn’t look at her. He was too tempted to tell her what a pathetic woman and mother she was.

  He tightened his grip around Cadence’s waist instead. He focused on communicating to her how much he loved her—how he would always fight for her and protect her.

  “I have to go,” Mrs. Miller said.

  Cadence said nothing. She just stared at her mother perplexed. It’s the look a child gives a parent when she truly has no idea what she’s done wrong. You see the brain working hard, trying to understand, but clarity remains elusive behind furrowed brows.

  “Cadence, I . . .” But there was nothing left to say. Mrs. Miller turned and walked away.

  Cadence craned her neck and watched her mother walk out of the store and out of sight.

  “We can go home,” Mark said gently.

  She shook her head. “I want bedding.”

  “Cadence, let’s leave all this. It’s not important right now,” Mark urged.

  “Yes, it is!” she screamed. A few heads turned in their direction. She walked over to the sheets sets and started searching. “Maybe a neutral color?” she asked, ignoring the tears that plopped onto the plastic casings.

  Mark approached her with the cart and played pretend. She wanted to buy new bedding, so he’d help her. It was excruciating watching her cry as she searched through colors and textures, but it’s what she wanted. And he would respect that.

  “I like this green color,” she said, holding the set up for him to see. The tears streamed from her eyes. “Or this buttery yellow. That’s pretty and sunshiny. Too girly?” she asked.

  He studied the sets she was holding. “I like them both.”

  She dropped her arms. “Really?” She opened her hands and watched the sets tumble to the floor.

  “Maybe b-blue?” she choked out, reaching for another set. And then she couldn’t pretend anymore. She turned to Mark, a look of wild desperation and hurt on her face, and he gathered her up in his arms. She cried hard—so hard that an employee approached them and asked if there was anything she could do.

  “Bring her mother back,” Mark said, and the employee didn’t know how to respond.

  He sat down in the corner of the bedding section and pulled her onto his lap. He rocked her side to side and kissed her temple. He whispered soothing words into
her ear. He let her pour out all the anger and grief she’d stored up for the past several weeks onto his shoulder, into his neck. He held her tightly and waited for the sobbing to subside. And then she relaxed. He felt the tension melt away from her body. Utter exhaustion from the tears she’d spilled. He asked if she wanted to go home, and she nodded. They stood up, and she reached for his hand. He took it, and led her out.

  ***

  He sat in his worn leather club chair in the corner of their bedroom watching her over the top of his book. She was deep in thought, eyes moving slowly over the tissue-paper pages of her Bible.

  He couldn’t resist. “What are you reading about?”

  “Love,” she replied, not looking up.

  “What book?”

  “1 Corinthians,” she said.

  Mark thought for a moment. “But you said you didn’t like Paul.”

  Cadence closed her Bible and looked at Mark. “I’m not a fan of Paul, but seeing as how he wrote most of the New Testament, I’m kinda stuck with him.”

  Mark chuckled. “Why read it at all then?”

  “Because there’s good stuff in here!” she replied, and then she quoted, “‘If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal’. That’s poetry, my friend.”

  “So I guess Paul isn’t so bad,” Mark replied.

  Cadence shrugged and pulled her hair over her shoulder. “I still think he was a freaking misogynist.”

  Mark laughed. “Why?”

  “He was always telling women what to do. I’d have been like, ‘Step off’.”

  “Give me an example,” Mark said.

  Cadence thought for a moment. “All right. What’s the deal with him telling women to be silent in church? How about EVERYBODY be silent in church when the pastor’s preaching? How about that?”

  “You gotta read it in context,” Mark explained.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The culture of the time. He’s talking to a specific group of women in a specific church.”

  Cadence looked shocked. “How do you know this?”

  “I know stuff, Cadence. Just because I’m not a Christian doesn’t mean I haven’t studied the Bible. It is a historical text, you know.”

  Cadence grinned. “Well then, teach me.”

  Mark eyed her curiously. “Okay. Paul was talking about the Corinthian church. The custom during that time period was for men and women to sit on separate sides of the church. So women were separated from their husbands. If they had a question about the teaching, they’d shout to their husbands across the aisle. And it caused disruption in the church. So Paul told them to be quiet and to ask their husbands questions when they got home.”

  Cadence stared at Mark for a moment before replying, “Are you making that up?”

  Mark smiled. “No.”

  “So that doesn’t really have anything to do with the modern-day woman, right?”

  “I think if anyone is shouting in church, someone should tell that person to be quiet. Man. Woman. Child. Whatever.”

  “Where did you learn that?” Cadence asked. She played with the ends of her hair as she leaned against the headboard.

  “I took a religion course as an undergrad.”

  “What else can you explain to me about Paul? ‘Cause I’m not the only woman on the planet who’s got a problem with him.”

  Mark laughed. “You’re definitely not.”

  Cadence waited. Mark walked to the bed and sat down beside her.

  “No one understands what he meant when he said wives should submit to their husbands,” he said. “Including your mother.”

  Cadence tensed. “I don’t wanna talk about that,” she whispered.

  “We don’t have to,” Mark said. “But I want you to know something: Your mother is wrong. She’s not doing what God wants her to do. Because if she were, she’d call you and spend time with you and have a relationship with you.”

  Cadence hung her head. And then she opened her Bible and continued reading.

  “Wanna put that aside for a little bit?” Mark asked. He tugged on the book gently, but she tightened her grip.

  “I’m studying.”

  “Is this for class?”

  “No. It’s for me.”

  Mark leaned over and kissed her neck. “I can help you study other things.”

  Cadence squirmed. “Do I bother you when you’re working?”

  “All the time,” he replied, nuzzling her neck.

  She giggled. “Stop! And go away.”

  “But I wanna hang out.”

  “Well, I’m hanging out with God right now.”

  Mark sighed and walked to the bedroom door.

  “Hey,” Cadence called. He turned around and looked at her. “I need you to understand something.”

  He nodded.

  “I love you. I love you very much. But I love God more.”

  Mark stared at her for a moment. He could have easily been offended. God didn’t rescue her from her dad. Give her a place to live. Take care of her. Feed her. God didn’t hold her at night when she cried about the loss of her family. He didn’t comfort her and encourage her. And if he did, Mark didn’t see. What he saw instead was a girl who still clung desperately to a way of life she didn’t know how to let go of—a girl convinced that God was all-powerful and benevolent and loving, when Mark knew better. He knew a different God. One who took and punished and cast him into years of darkness and despair.

  “Did I upset you?” Cadence asked softly.

  “Not at all,” Mark replied. He closed the door gently behind him.

  ***

  They stared at one another, then at the doctor, then at one another again.

  “Impossible,” Andy breathed.

  “Not impossible,” Dr. Stanwick replied. “Improbable, yes. But not impossible.”

  “I’m on birth control!” Andy exclaimed.

  “Not now you aren’t,” the doctor replied. “Stop taking those pills immediately.”

  “What are we gonna do?” Mark breathed. The women looked at him confused. He rubbed his forehead.

  “What do you mean what are we gonna do?” Andy asked. “Our only option is to have it.”

  “It is?”

  “Mark!”

  “I’m going to step out for a few moments so you two can talk,” Dr. Stanwick said. She left the room, making sure to close the door securely.

  “Mark?”

  “Hmm?”

  “What are you thinking?” Andy asked.

  “I’m thinking that this wasn’t part of the plan right now. I’m thinking I’m wiggin’ out. I’m thinking I’m not sure I’m ready to be a dad at twenty-five. I’m thinking we can’t afford this baby. I’m thinking—”

  “Okay. Calm down,” Andy interjected. She rubbed Mark’s back. “It’s okay. I know you’re spinning. You’ve got a lot to think about. I mean, I get it. I know you’re a planner and have a hard time with surprises.”

  “Andy, this isn’t a surprise, all right? This is a freaking huge anvil falling on my head!”

  Andy cracked a grin. “I know.”

  “How will I provide for us? I’m a teacher! I was planning on going back to school. You know this. How can I pay for that and afford a baby and figure out how to scrape money together to buy a house, and—”

  Andy silenced him with a kiss. It was tender at first, just light lips on lips. But then she teased his mouth open and found his tongue. He thought he shouldn’t kiss her like that in a doctor’s office, but it’s what she wanted. He tried to respond to her, but he couldn’t connect. His mind focused on dread. It snuck in and wrapped around his heart as soon as the doctor confirmed Andy’s pregnancy. He couldn’t make sense of it. Yes, he was scared to be a father so young, but it really had to do with something else. Fear of the unknown. A foreshadowing of future events that wouldn’t turn out as he’d hoped. He almost pulled away and cried, “No!”

  Almost.
<
br />   Andy sat back on the examining table and smiled at Mark.

  “We’ll figure it out,” she said.

  He sighed. “I knew I’d eventually take issue with your whole go-with-the-flow attitude.”

  She giggled. “That’s exactly why you need someone like me in your life! You’re so uptight and scheduled all the time.”

  “Hey! Not fair,” he said, nudging her.

  And then she burst out laughing.

  “What?” he asked indignantly.

  She shook her head. “This couldn’t be more perfect for you. The control freak loses control. I love it!”

  He snorted and mumbled, “I don’t.”

  “You’re not even the littlest bit excited?” she asked. She rubbed her flat stomach, and he noticed. That made it official. There were no other options on the table after the stomach rub. She was having this baby, and told him without even saying the words aloud.

  He knew to tell her what she wanted to hear. Sometimes that’s what you had to do with women.

  “I am,” he replied. “I’m scared, but if you feel like this is what God wants for us, then I’m in.”

  “I want you to feel it, too,” Andy said. She looked at him expectantly.

  He stared back. “I do,” he lied.

  She nodded. “I trust him.”

  “I know.”

  Mark never had a reason not to trust God. God was there for him when his father passed away. He was there for him when he needed that scholarship money for school. He was even there to warn him about a potentially disastrous relationship with a girl he thought he was head over heels in love with. Yes, he trusted God. He had a sinking feeling in his heart that he couldn’t shake, but sure, he trusted God.

  “You really didn’t have to do this, Cadence,” Fanny said, snipping the ends of the flowers and arranging them in a vintage hobnail vase. “I know how expensive flowers are.”

  Cadence grinned and plopped down in a seat at Fanny’s kitchen table.

  “It’s no big deal,” she replied. “And anyway, it’s your anniversary.”